[And there's the rub, spoken after a magnificent turn in which Peggy decides all on her own to twist and twirl. From outside appearances it might still seem that Rip carries the lead, but the opposite is true; they've shifted once again, as easy as a change in the breeze, with Rip the one to feel it's caress on his cheek as he watches Peggy's movements.
She's quite marvelous; her steps, her confidence in body. The look in her eye when so briefly, their gazes meet. Perhaps more now than when he'd sung those lyrics, Rip feels knocked off center.
But it's a dance, and he must keep time and rhythm alike. He tilts his face down but does not kiss her properly; rather, he presses his lips gently to her forehead, a whisper of a touch as she spells out her reasons in the form of instruction and demand. It's not just the plant she wishes Rip to maintain then, but himself right along with it. Once, maybe twice a week, and to do that he needs to remember what time it is, what day, to not let all of Wonderland blend together like that miserable hell he'd lived through on the Waverider.
Prepare for the hard times. Don't dare to let them consume him.]
When you put it like that, I suppose I don't have much choice. [Not if he wants to keep what he does have. Rip has experienced loss, keen and defining, the sort of thing that has made him wish for his own death time and again. But he's never managed it; there's always been some greater purpose, some task or duty to hold on to--or now, a woman in his arms and all she represents, moments of happiness and levity and song, and so very much more.
cw: suicidal thoughts
She's quite marvelous; her steps, her confidence in body. The look in her eye when so briefly, their gazes meet. Perhaps more now than when he'd sung those lyrics, Rip feels knocked off center.
But it's a dance, and he must keep time and rhythm alike. He tilts his face down but does not kiss her properly; rather, he presses his lips gently to her forehead, a whisper of a touch as she spells out her reasons in the form of instruction and demand. It's not just the plant she wishes Rip to maintain then, but himself right along with it. Once, maybe twice a week, and to do that he needs to remember what time it is, what day, to not let all of Wonderland blend together like that miserable hell he'd lived through on the Waverider.
Prepare for the hard times. Don't dare to let them consume him.]
When you put it like that, I suppose I don't have much choice. [Not if he wants to keep what he does have. Rip has experienced loss, keen and defining, the sort of thing that has made him wish for his own death time and again. But he's never managed it; there's always been some greater purpose, some task or duty to hold on to--or now, a woman in his arms and all she represents, moments of happiness and levity and song, and so very much more.
No. He can't dare let it die. He won't.]